Winter
by Richonne
Summary: While on a supply run, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Carl, and Karen are overrun by walkers. Glenn makes the tough choice to leave Rick and Michonne behind while he runs with Carl, Maggie, and Karen. Now Rick and Michonne must depend on each other if they hope to survive and make it back to the prison in one piece.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Winter  
**Author**: Richonne  
**Rating**: Adult for graphic violence and sexual content.  
**Ships**: Rick/Michonne, Maggie/Glenn  
**Characters**: All cast members of The Walking Dead TV show  
**Synopsis**: The winter season approaches meaning cold weather and slower walkers. It also means a harder struggle for food with new mouths from Woodbury to feed and the constant threat of the Governor's possible return. Supply runs take hunting parties further away from the prison as they exhaust nearby resources. While out, Glenn and Maggie make the tough decision to leave Rick and Michonne behind after an attack by a herd of walkers threatens the safety of the entire hunting party, including Carl. Now Rick and Michonne face the fight of their lives as they struggle to make it back home.

Rick Grimes pulled the collar of his coat up against a frigid breeze and searched the yard for any sign of weakness. He knew he would find nothing amiss but habit wouldn't let him walk past without at least a cursory glance for a breach in the fences. As he turned away to head for the main entrance he saw an older gentleman, a Woodbury survivor, waving a piece of paper and trotting his way.

Geoffrey Barry was a nice enough man if not a bit of a hopeless geek. He'd been an engineer with an abiding love of science and mechanics before the world went to shit. He could also come off as a little condescending because of his intellect and that earned him the cold shoulder from most of the others. Rick never paid attention to Geoff's impatience with those he deemed too dull-witted to understand him. The man had solved, after all, their sewage problems, and that had earned Rick's respect and tolerance.

"Good thing I caught you, Sheriff," Geoff said breathlessly. He, like the Woodbury survivors, insisted on giving him some kind of title. They'd called Phillip Blake the Governor. Now they called him Sheriff regardless of how many times he told them to call him Rick. He eventually just gave up.

"What have you got there, Geoff?"

"I was down in the new infirmary, helping Dr. Stevens and Hershel set up their equipment, when I lucked upon all of this!"

He showed Rick a list of equipment. Rick couldn't quite put together what kind of machine the parts would make. Impatiently Geoff supplied the answer. "I can make a turbine! It'll be primitive, and operated by manpower, but it would work. We have some other parts from Woodbury that I can use to make high powered capacitors - you know, big batteries - that will store the energy to be used at night, for instance. I think we have enough parts that volunteers could take turns moving the turbine, these huge wheels here," he said, illustrating what looked like wagon wheels on the paper, "and that would charge the batteries enough to run for about twenty hours out of every day."

Rick was impressed and nodded. "This is a great idea, Geoff, but there's only one problem: we have generators we can't use because the noise will attract walkers. How much noise would this make?"

"If we put it in a room beside the infirmary it won't be audible outside at all. We could cook inside, we could use the freezers to store meat that the hunters bring home."

He looked proud and rightfully so. Rick clapped him on the shoulder. "Use all the help you need. Just remember to be patient with people who don't catch on as quick as you can."

Geoff nodded and then headed off, scribbling on his paper with the stump of pencil he normally kept tucked behind one ear, passing right by Daryl Dixon without noticing him in the slightest.

"What's got his panties in a twist?" Daryl asked.

"He's not upset, he's happy," Rick said, starting back toward the prison with Daryl. He explained Geoff's idea and Daryl nodded approval.

"If the egghead actually does it he's right, we'll have meat year round, not just in the dead of winter. Listen, you sure you don't want me to come along on this run? You're going out further than you ever have before."

"I'm sure everything will be fine. We'll keep moving. At the first sign of trouble we'll turn back."

Rick stopped in front of the truck and watched Glenn, Karen, and a young man named Pete connect a trailer to the hitch. The bed of the truck was roomy but they didn't want to have to make multiple trips away from the relative safety of the prison. They would pack everything they could into the truck and the trailer and make whatever they retrieved last as long as possible.

"I can't believe I ever complained about have to make a run to the store after seven o'clock," Maggie reminisced. She loaded two five gallon cans of gas into the bed of the truck and secured them with a bungee.

"It would be heaven to have a shopping mall, wouldn't it?" said Karen.

"We've got them. They're just overrun by zombies who want to eat you alive," Carl commented.

Daryl looked at Rick, about to make the same argument he'd made the first time he'd heard Carl was going on this run. Rick preempted him with "My decision stands."

Daryl nodded once. "You're the boss."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" Carl said, a little aggressively. He'd been getting attitude about everything since the Woodbury survivors joined them at the prison.

Daryl took it in stride and held up his hands. "Never said you couldn't, big man. Never said you couldn't."

"Carl!"

Ricks eyes were drawn to Maggie's younger sister, Beth Greene. She was only two years older than Carl but she may as well have had a decade on him as far as maturity went. Carl would soon turn thirteen, Beth would be fifteen in two days. Rick suspected that a lot of Carl's attitude had a lot to do with wishing to impress Beth since she was one of the few girls close to his own age. He crossed the yard and accepted something from Beth before kissing her lightly on the lips.

"When did that start?" Rick wondered.

"You think that's something? You should've seen what I broke up a couple of days ago," Daryl said.

Rick whipped around to face Daryl. "You didn't say anything?"

"They weren't full on, Rick. It was harmless enough, just a couple of kids kissin'. I figured it was his business just as long as they didn't go too far."

"You see them doing anything serious I want to know. The last thing we need is a pregnant girl who's still a child herself."

Daryl nodded and started off toward the prison entrance. Rick noticed the lingering look he cast in Karen's direction and wondered what their situation was. He didn't make it a point to put a finger in everybody's pie but he didn't want Carol to get hurt. She was a good woman and she'd suffered enough already with the loss of her daughter.

After Michonne arrived Rick ordered everyone into the van. "Maggie, you drive. Michonne and Karen will sit up front with you. The boys and I will ride in back."

Glenn tossed Maggie the keys to the truck as she joked, "If we run into danger you want the girls to get it first, huh?"

"Ladies first," Rick came back. "Just because society has gone to hell doesn't mean women's lib needs to take a step backward."

Michonne caught his eye with a smirk. He watched her climb into the truck, allowing his eyes to wander lower where her khaki trousers pulled at her full, wonderfully round bottom. She had, Rick thought, been catching his eye a lot lately. He tried not to feel guilty about it when he considered his wife Lori had only been dead five months.

Rick climbed into the back and ignored Carl's resentful glare. Apparently his son had a habit of watching him watching Michonne, and it was clear he didn't like what he saw in his father's eyes.

The gates were pulled open and Maggie drove through, taking them from the safety of home and numbers and out into the rotted nightmare the world had become. Every time he left those gates he prayed he'd return. One of these days, he thought, as he watched the naked winter trees zoom past the grimy back window of the truck, he would leave and never come back. He'd end up in the belly of some walker. Death itself didn't scare Rick so much as the idea of leaving his boy without either of his parents. Rick reached out to touch his son's hand.

Carl pulled away.


	2. Chapter 2

"We're coming up on Charlesville," Maggie said. They'd been riding for forty minutes but the trip overall had taken an hour when they had to stop to clear a blockage from the road. Luckily there'd been no walkers around to attack and they'd gotten back on the trip without incident. If everything went that well Rick would say a silent prayer of thanks. If it didn't…

"There's a lot of glass on the road," Karen pointed out. Maggie slowed the truck to a crawl and edged around as much of the glass as possible.

"You familiar with this area?" she asked Rick.

He shrugged. "I've been this way a few times. I wouldn't say I know the streets very well."

Maggie took the exit and at once Rick saw they were in for some trouble. Shattered glass littered the exit, as did twisted pieces of metal and other sharp objects that posed a puncture threat. Rick found the state of the place unsettling. Normally when they went out on a supply run they discovered trace evidence of survivors having come through before. If there wasn't evidence of survivors then there were usually a number of walkers meandering about, waiting for their next opportunity to feed. This placed looked deserted of both the living and the walking dead, and that was a real headscratcher for Rick.

"Doesn't look like anyone has cared to pay Charlesville a visit," Michonne commented.

"My thoughts exactly. Careful, Maggie. Last thing we need is a flat."

"I'll drive this truck on the rim to get us out of here if I have to," she said.

"Stop the truck. I want a quick look around. Be ready to back out on my word."

Maggie drew the truck to a stop and Rick alone climbed out. Glass crunched underfoot from a few busted out car windows. He saw a skeleton in the driver seat of a car. It looked like it had been there from the start of the fall and had seen two summers to rot the flesh from its bones. It was a nice big car from the early eighties, an Oldsmobile Delta Eighty Eight. It was a land boat with lots of room.

He also noticed that whoever had been coming into town when they'd died in their car had apparently been returning from a shopping trip where they'd loaded up on supplies in anticipation of a long wait for society to return to normal. They had a mop and pail in the back, along with an ample supply paper towels, toilet paper, cleaners, and other sundry items that he planned to collect. First on his agenda, though, was to clear up the exit ramp. He grabbed the mop and used it to sweep as much of the glass out of the way as possible. If they had to high tail it out of there he wanted as little risk to the tires as possible on exit.

Ten long minutes passed with the truck shut off to conserve fuel. No one spoke. The late fall wind was like a mournful widow who mourned the loss of the living as much as Rick did. He kept an eye out for any sign of movement but saw nothing.

_If I ever develop a need for glasses I'm fucked,_ he thought, as his eyes lighted upon a nearby print ad for frames starting at $59.00.

Once the street was clear of the big stuff he motioned for Maggie to ease forward. She did so in neutral, wary of starting the engine in such quiet, where she could draw unwanted attention from the dead. When she stopped, Carl jumped out and helped him relieve the empty vehicle of its gifts.

"You gotta wonder," Michonne said, nodding at the mega packs of toilet paper Carl heaved into the attached trailer, "why no one else picked that car clean."

"This place don't feel right," said Glenn.

"No place on earth feels right," Rick said. He'd pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. The mild stink of rotted meat wafted out. So much time had passed that the cooler, which the owner of the car had stocked with meats, had was now nearly empty save for some shriveled remains of steaks, chicken, and fish. There were, however, plenty of canned goods.

"Aw man, look! Sugar and Kool-Aid!" Carl said happily. "I'm gonna surprise Beth when we get back."

He'd pulled out an entire carton of Kool-Aid packets (that thankfully had been sealed in plastic) with a look of childish delight on his round young face. For a moment he was no longer the angry, sulking teenager who couldn't stand the presence of his father. For a moment he was Rick's little Carl. He was Lori's little Carl. He was the good boy who wanted to hug his parents and go fishing and play video games. Then Carl caught his father smiling at him and the cool air of indifference returned.

Carl shrugged a 'whatever-I-could-take-it-or-leave-it' at his father and finished pulling out canned goods and stacking them into the trailer.

Once back in the truck Maggie fired the engine back to life. They all looked around to see if anything dead and rotting had been awakened by the noise. Nothing stirred. She drove on into the town.

"Carl, you and Michonne are with me. We'll head east. Glenn-"

"I'd rather be in Glenn's group," Carl protested.

"Carl," Maggie started, but Rick held up a hand.

"Karen, you're with Michonne and me. Glenn, you take Maggie and Carl west. Stay within three blocks of the truck at all times. If you run into major trouble fire off two quick shots and we'll come running. You know the drill, though. Keep it quiet as possible."

"Right," Glenn said. He clapped Carl on the shoulder and they set off.

Kids grew up and changed. They strove to assert their independence at adolescence. Rick knew that had been going on since the dawn of mankind. What bothered him was that Carl didn't just want to assert his independence; he wanted to pull away from his father completely. Rick's biggest concern was that Carl was on his way to becoming another Shane or, worse, another Governor. The boy was cold and his moral compass was tilting toward south at an alarming rate. It seemed nothing Rick did got through to the boy.

"He'll be fine," said Michonne, and lightly brushed her fingertips across the back of Rick's hand.

"Glenn's a good guy. He'll keep my boy safe."

"I don't mean Carl's safety on this run," she clarified.

Rick swore that woman was a mind reader sometimes. She moved away and Rick noticed Karen smirking slightly before turning away with a look that said he and Michonne's relationship was none of her business but it was obvious there was something underneath every touch, every look, all the same.

"This is so far beyond wrong," Karen whispered.

"Agreed," Michonne said. "This place should be empty."

All three of them unconsciously tiptoed through the store. There was nothing to indicate that either man or zombie lurked in the deep shadows between the isles but they were cautious all the same. They made little to no noise as they perused the shelves which had only been looted of half their supplies. Rick used a sack to dump shampoo, soap, razors, shave cream, and different medicines, outdated though they were. When that sack was full he left it sitting in the front of the store and walked around, looking for more to carry.

They spent nearly an hour doing that, going from store to store, occasionally meeting up with Glenn's group as they returned to fill the trailer.

"This place is a gold mine," Glenn said, putting a box full of diapers into the trailer. It was full now and they would have to start loading up the back of the truck. "I wonder why? I don't like this place. It's giving me the willies."

"Me too. Let's get what we can and get out," Rick said.

"I'm not volunteering for a return trip," Maggie said, and shivered despite the warm jacket she wore. She stuffed a sack full of socks, underwear, and miscellaneous beauty supplies.

"Is the makeup really necessary?" Glenn whispered.

Maggie's brows shot up. "Hell yeah."

Rick smirked and motioned for them to head down Tyler Avenue. "Carl says there's a gun store down this street. Let's see what kind of luck we have there. Maggie, I want you to stay with the truck."

"I doubt anyone will come along and loot the trailer, Rick."

"I want you ready to drive up after us should we run into trouble. We've been here an hour and a half. We're pushing our luck. I can feel it. We hit the gun supply store and then we get the hell out of dodge and call it a good day."

He tapped the roof of the truck as Maggie nodded and climbed in, softly closing the door behind her, and putting the key in the ignition.

"Keep a good lookout all around you," Glenn warned. "Don't let anyone, or _anything_, sneak up on you."

He kissed her and then started off down Tyler street. Michonne had her katana drawn. Everyone else's guns were out and ready.

Rick's footfalls, though soft from the rubber heels of his shoes, sounded loud and heavy to him in the unnatural quiet of Charlesville. He kept an eye out for any movement behind the grimy display windows of the shop, seeing nothing until they reached the gun store almost two blocks down. He read the faded red, white, and blue hand painted sign that said Stogey's Firearms and Ammo.

_I hope you're not walking around inside, Stogey_, Rick thought.

"Locked," Carl informed them. "It's a deadbolt too. How are we gonna get in without making a lot of noise?"

"I'll look around back," Karen offered.

Rick nodded. "Go with her, Michonne."

The two women headed down the alley a few shops down. They returned only a few minutes later with a claw hammer.

"Gated in back," Karen said. "I found this, though."

"What's the plan for that?" asked Carl.

"I'll show you. Stand back."

With surprising quiet Karen went to work pulling at the wood frame around the knob. It was already warped from years of neglect and had softened. It took twenty nerve wracking minutes but she managed to chip away the wood and expose the deadbolt and the lock on both sides until she could push the door open.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath.

Rick soon understood the reason for her annoyance. After all that work, all that time, all that risk, the store was empty.

"Who'd lock up an empty store but leave loaded stores open?" Glenn asked.

"Shhh…" Rick cautioned.

Every case was empty. Every gun was gone. Every box of ammo had been taken. Rick hadn't given up hope just yet, though.

"They have a supply room. Karen, let me see that hammer."

"I'll do it. You might make too much noise," Karen cautioned. Rick stepped back while she used the hammer to pry out the nails that held a plank of wood in place. Ever so gently she lay the plank down and pulled the door to the supply room open.

That was when all hell broke loose.

There was a nearly comical moment of surprise between both the living and the dead when Karen opened the door. It lasted no longer than a second, the filmy eyes of the dead meeting the clear, vibrant eyes of the living, and then the noise and the violence ensued.

"Shit!" Karen shouted. Walkers had been packed like sardines into the supply room which, Rick had a split second to realize, was chock full of ammo.

_Isn't that always the way?_

Now that the door was open they all but exploded into the store, like blood from a jagged wound, their bony hands grasping at Karen. Michonne yanked her away just as one of the walkers inside made to scratch at her. A scrum formed momentarily between the counter and the supply room. Carl, Glenn, and Michonne had long since jumped past the register but Karen was slower to react. Rick gripped Karen by the hair and hauled her back, over the counter, just as many wasted hands clawed the space where she'd been literally a second before.

"Don't let them! Don't let them!" she shouted fearfully. She held Rick in a death grip as he finished pulling her over the counter.

"Dad!"

Rick's heart nearly stopped in his chest. He thought, for one horrible moment, a walker had gotten hold of his son. He'd barely survived Lori's death with most of his sanity. If he lost Carl he'd go well and truly mad for whatever remained of his life.

Carl wasn't, thankfully, in the grip of a walker but he was pointing at a hoard that was approaching from further up Tyler street.

"Call Maggie!" he shouted.

Glenn shot twice into the crowd, taking down two walkers, turned, and began firing at walkers that were coming over, under, and around the checkout counter.

"Get Carl to the truck!" he shouted.

Walkers had gotten between him and his boy. Now Glenn and Carl were on the other side of a line of zombies.

"Dad! Dad! We can't leave him!"

"Stairs!" Michonne shouted. Rick fired a few shots, taking out a few of the animated dead, and shoved Karen up ahead of him. The last thing he saw was Glenn forcibly picking Carl up and shoving him into the bed of the truck that Maggie had haphazardly backed up the street.

The upstairs door was blessedly unlocked. Rick needed both Karen and Michonne to help him shove the door closed against the ravenous hoard that surged up the steps from the shop below. He twisted the privacy lock. It wouldn't hold thirty seconds.

"Get that table!" Karen shouted, leaning against the door with all she had.

The room was occupied by three walkers that Michonne was in the business of cutting down. They'd apparently been trapped in their living room since the start of the shit storm, captive only because they'd been defeated by the complicated mechanics of an unlocked door. Michonne ran her sword through the head of a girl probably only twelve years old.

"Must be Stogey and family," Michonne said, helping Rick secure the table in front of the apartment door.

Rick ran to the window that overlooked a deserted street. "This way!"

He yanked open the window as the door gave way behind them. The table was no match for the sheer force of pressure.

"They've been stuck all this time without feeding. You know they're starving," Karen said, offering Michonne a hand. Rick yanked the window shut but one of the more clever zombies smashed a fist through.

"Rick!"

Maggie's voice.

Rick searched the street and saw Maggie drive up to just below the steeply sloped roof of the supply room on which they stood.

"We're coming!"

That was when Karen fell. She tumbled from the roof after her feet slipped from beneath her and hit the concrete hard. There was a gunshot - more walkers had arrived - and Karen hopped into the back seat after Carl threw the door open for her. She had just enough time to close the door before the new arrivals began pounding on the glass.

"Go go go!" Rick shouted. "Get my boy outta here!"

Maggie's eyes were tearful when she floored the accelerator. The truck shot forward, hauling the trailer, which had an unwanted passenger clinging to the back, heading down the street. It fell off a few feet later and lay there like a confused drunk waking up from a three day bender.

"There's ten down there, God only knows how many up here," Michonne said, watching the truck disappear around a curve. Now the only sound was the raspy, hungry grunts of the walkers who struggled to reach them from both the street and the window.

"We're fucked," Rick said. "I've got three rounds left. We are _completely_ fucked."

"You're not fucked yet," Michonne said.

"You packing a gun now?" he asked hopefully.

"Me? Hell no. I have no use for a gun."

She looked him in the eye and he knew, only a split second before she did it, that she was going to jump.

"No," he said, gripping her arm. The walkers in the busted window behind him had crowded so tightly they couldn't get through but, he noticed, the frame wouldn't hold for long. They'd spill out by sheer force of pressure any second.

Michonne swung the blade of her sword, chopping off many of the grasping hands that reached for Rick's collar. She did likewise to the hands of the walkers on the street below.

"Sit back, relax, watch a master in action," she said.

"You can't!"

"If I don't act now you'll never see your boy again, Rick. He needs you."

Michonne pulled free of his grasp and jumped, landing gracefully on her feet, and then began swinging. She really was a master with that sword. She didn't attempt to kill, only disable, the walkers. She chopped off heads and they rolled down the street like fleshy marbles from hell, their teeth snapping hungrily at thin air as they tumbled away.

Rick took out one walker that was coming up behind Michonne. He saved the last two bullets - in case they needed them.

"Come on," Michonne said.

Rick knew why. He heard the groan of wood behind him and didn't bother to look back. The frame was giving way and they'd literally be smothered in walkers at any second. He jumped down, gripped Michonne by the back of the head, and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, one that could easily be construed for gratitude in a less fevered moment of panic, though he doubted she'd buy that line if they managed to escape.

"It's time to run," Michonne said.

Rick nodded. There was one moment when he thought he heard the sound of their truck's engine disappearing into the distance. His boy was safe. That was all that mattered. Rick took the lead and together they hauled ass down the street, ignoring the hungry sounds of the walkers that gave clumsy, halting chase.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Anon comments are welcome but they're screened until I can unscreen them. This fic is also updated on here.

*****

Carl did his best to hide his tears by sitting with his body turned to the window and pulling his jacket over his face. The occasional hiccup of his soft sobs gave away his sorrow.

"It's okay to cry," Glenn said wetly. "Hell, I'm crying right now and I'm a grown man."

That merciful permission from Glenn opened the floodgates for Carl. He wept, cringing away from Karen's comforting hand on his back.

"You told Maggie to leave them!" Carl cried. He hated himself for it. He was trying his hardest to be a man but sometimes he still behaved like a kid. He was weak and he feared he always would be.

"I had to, Carl. It's what Rick wanted. He wanted me to keep you safe. He ordered me to. He was our leader and I had to-"

"Stop talking about him like he's dead! Stop the truck Maggie. I'll go back for him myself since Glenn doesn't have the balls to do it."

"You know that ain't gonna happen, Carl. That place was overrun with walkers. It'd be suicide to go back for…"

She trailed off and Carl knew she was going to say it would be suicide to go back for whatever meat was left on his father and Michonne's bones. If walker-picked bones was all that remained of his dad then he wanted those bones back. They were his. He didn't have anything but a cross at his mother's grave. He was damned if he'd have another empty grave for his father because of those fucking moving corpses.

Carl made his decision right then. He couldn't force Maggie to turn back but he could, when they reached the prison, fill the tank on the Tucson and drive it back to Charlesville himself. He'd never driven a car but hell, how hard could it be? He'd stash it with weapons. He didn't care if it took a month of Sundays but he was going back to Charlesville and he was going to kill every walker in that godforsaken shithole.

Even if it killed him.

Daryl Dixon knew the worst had happened when the Dodge Ram pulled through the gates missing two passengers. He did a quick search of the truck bed before he finally let his chest clench with grief. His grief didn't show on his face-much-but he sure as hell felt it.

Carl emerged from the back of the truck with red, swollen eyes, and ran straight for the prison without stopping to talk to anyone, not even Beth, who stood confused and scared with her father, watching everybody but Rick and Michonne emerge from the truck. Maggie looked her in the eye and shook her head.

Beth ran to her sister, grateful that she'd returned, grateful that Glenn, the man she'd come to think of as her brother, had also returned, and wept in her sister's arms.

"What happened?" Daryl asked. Karen accepted his hand, a chivalrous gesture to help her out of the truck, and it was then that they both noticed the scratch on her forearm. She didn't know how she'd gotten it. She hadn't even felt the scratch. Now, seeing it, she felt the cold hand of dread grip her guts and squeeze tight.

"Walkers attacked. We barely got out. We had to leave Rick and Michonne behind," she said.

Daryl bit his lip and eyed the small scratch on Karen's arm. He liked Karen. He liked her more than he should, he imagined, and now…"It could be nothing," he offered.

She nodded and bravely said. "It's probably something. I'm gonna go lock myself in my cell. If I turn I want you to be the one to put the bullet in my head."

He nodded and watched her go, hoping like hell she'd gotten that scratch from anything but a walker, because the only way Daryl really wanted to put her down was in his bed, not with a bullet through her skull.

"I'm going to find Carl," Beth said.

"Leave him be," Daryl told her. "He needs to cry and he doesn't want to do that in front of his girl."

Beth nodded and squeezed Maggie's hand. It was the first time anyone had referenced her as being Carl's girl, even though it was true, and she hated that the first time someone did was because he was mourning his father's loss.

Glenn approached Daryl. "This makes you the new Sheriff."

"I ain't no sheriff. Next person that calls me that is gonna get a punch in the face."

"What do we do now?"

"You saw the walkers take 'em down?"

Glenn shook his head and explained how they'd been pinned down when Rick ordered them to go and get Carl to safety.

"Well, shit!" Daryl said, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "If there was only ten walkers on the ground they probably got away."

Glenn was afraid he'd say that. "Daryl, man, come on. Even if they fought past the few walkers on the ground there were hundreds in the streets just searching for them. They had no shot at getting out of that alive. It'd be suicide to risk going back."

"I'll decide what's too dangerous-"

"Glenn's right," Maggie said. Daryl suspected she was afraid that he'd enlist Glenn on a suicide mission. "They're lost to us. You didn't see that herd."

"I won't make any stupid decisions if that's what you're worried about but I'm not dropping this either. I'll think it over. If I decide to risk going back and you don't want to go that's fine. No hard feelings but we can't wait too long. If they found a safe place to hole up in they need us to get back to them ASAP."

He started off to the entrance, his ever-present crossbow slung over his right shoulder, but his usual swagger was gone. He walked like a man with a mission and both Glenn and Maggie knew what that mission was going to be.

"I'm in," Maggie said. "You know I'm in. Rick saved Daddy's life when he got bit. He's saved all our lives. He's kept us going this long we can't just…"

Glenn gripped Maggie's hand. "Yeah. I know. If you're in, I'm in."

Every door in town was locked.

"What the fuck?" Rick shouted. "This way. The dollar store is open."

Michonne outstripped rick, sword drawn and ready, and for some mad reason he kept thinking of being a kid when his dad telling him how dangerous it was to run with sharp objects.

_Now is not the time to lose it, Rick_, he thought to himself. _Don't drop the ball. Not now_.

They circled around to the dollar store they'd raided earlier. Rick all but ran into the door, expecting it to give. Now it, too, was locked. A heavy chain with a padlock had been placed on the handles from the _inside_. He and Michonne looked at one another, both bent at the waist trying to catch their breath.

"We're not alone here," she said.

Rick nodded. "Someone is toying with us."

"We have a clear shot at the highway," said Michonne. "Let's make a run for it."

Rick nodded in agreement but gripped her hand. "Push comes to shove I've saved two rounds. One for you, one for me."

She nodded and then started a brisk jog up the main street, heading for the same entrance ramp they'd used to enter town. Now it was blocked with a truck. Standing in the bed of a truck holding a shotgun was a beefy, bronze-skinned man with long hair and a bushy beard. A pair of shades covered his eyes.

He shook his head. "Better run," he said in a gruff voice, grinning and revealing deeply yellowed teeth. Behind them was the sound of walkers, milling about now, confused after having lost their quarry. "I'll give you five minutes to find your way back into town. After that, you'll be gunned down."

Michonne looked to Rick. "We can take him."

"You can't take all of us," the man said, hearing her. "You're losing time."

Rick nodded in the direction of the town. "Let's go."

"Rick-"

"We don't have a choice and I intend to see Carl again."

Without further protest, Michonne followed Rick back toward town, counterintuitive as it was. They had a helluva time making their way back in without being devoured by walkers, but they found an empty alley and, to their gratitude, an unlocked door with #3 written on it in dripping red paint.

Rick opened the door and entered first, telling Michonne to remain outside while he checked it out. It was a single room with a few crates stacked inside. Michonne entered when the sound of approaching walkers left her no choice. She didn't want those things to see her enter this room and then try to tear the door down.

There was no lock inside for the door. There was only a heavy wooden plank that she situated into the hooked braces on either side of the door. She and Rick held absolutely still while outside walkers grunted and groaned, still in search of their prey. It wouldn't be too long before their simple minds forgot why they were wandering the alley.

"Can't see a thing in here," Rick whispered. There were only a few razor sharp bars of light coming through the top and bottom of the door.

"Close your eyes and let them adjust to the dark," Michonne said, doing likewise.

Rick closed his eyes and gave them time to adjust to the lower level of light. Five minutes later it was much easier to see. Quietly as possible he and Michonne used a conveniently placed claw hammer lying atop one of the crates to pry off the lid. Inside, packed in straw, were a few boxes of ammo that perfectly matched his revolver. Michonne tapped his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water. The seal on the lid had never been opened so he wasn't quite as concerned about drinking it.

"I've got 40 rounds now," he said, loading his gun and sitting down on the hard wooden bench by the wall. He patted the bench next to him and Michonne sat down.

"Don't you want to look through the other crates?"

Rick nodded. "Give the walkers outside a chance to wander off. I don't want to make too much noise and get trapped in this room with them busting down the door."

She nodded and crossed her legs. Rick didn't hold out hope for idle conversation. Michonne was a laconic woman and he appreciated that. It was good to be in the company of someone who could appreciate comfortable silence, and also someone who get to the point without piling on a bunch of bullshit before they did. Lori had possessed that same quality.

When she did finally speak, after the sound of the walkers outside began to subside, she brought up the one subject he'd hoped she'd ignore. Then again that was what he appreciated about her. She always got to the point. She just went right for the jugular of whatever animal she faced.

"You kissed me," she said.

Rick shrugged, playing it off, knowing she wouldn't buy it. "I was just grateful you saved our asses."

Michonne nodded. He expected her to press the issue at least a little, and she did, a smile tugging at her lips. Her lips...they were beautifully full and now he knew how soft they were against his. "You kiss all the women who save your bacon?"

Rick grinned. "No."

A rare smile tugged at Michonne's lips. "Well, I feel all special now."

Without another word she got up and began opening crates. Rick joined her, ready to look at what their captors had provided behind door number 3.

Rick and Michonne had used the bench to lay out every item in the crates so they could catalog what they had.

-Four boxes of ammo for Rick's revolver.  
-Two large and scalpel sharp hunting knives with six inch blades and rubber grip handles.  
-Six candles  
-Two full lighters  
-A pack of beef jerky containing four long pieces  
-A six pack of bottled water, two of which they'd already drank  
-One backpack  
-An old soda bottle with a screw lid filled with motor oil  
-A watch with the correct time and date.

Rick eyed the watch. According to it the calendar Carl had been keeping was off by only two days. He felt a sense of pride for his boy for doing a good job at keeping track of time. It was hard to explain how much of a comfort it was to keep track of something from the civilized world, even if it was only the day of the week, month, and year.

"What's with the oil?" Michonne asked.

"I don't know but it may come in handy. Have a bite," he said, passing her a stick of jerky. They were both hungry but it also made them thirsty. They finished off the bottles of water Michonne had passed out earlier.

"We've lost the light," she said. "It might be better for us to to move around in the dark. The walkers have shit vision in the day but they're even easier to confuse in the dark and we'd evade whoever is pulling the strings around here. We may even find a way to sneak off."

"If we knew the layout, yeah, I'd agree. We don't know this town…You're kidding me."

There was a piece of paper sticking out of the straw in one of the crates. He'd assumed it was used for packing but now, in the dim light of the candle he'd lit, he could see it was a map of Charlesville. There were places marked with an X and the numbers 1-5.

"We're here," he said, pointing at #3.

"We need to study this map, memorize every bit of it," Michonne said. "I'll take first watch, two hours, while you study the map."

"I'll take over at 8:30."

She nodded. They planned to frog-leap that night. While they took turns sleeping. When dawn came they would make their first move. At some point, Rick knew, whoever orchestrated this game would have to do or say something reveal themselves and their motives. All they needed to do was stay alive until that time came.


	4. Chapter 4

Hershel stood on the fenced gangway and stared out at the prison perimeter. The view here was limited but important since it would offer an intruder, walker or living, easy access to the most densely populated areas of the prison now that the Woodbury survivors had joined them.

Ostensibly he was on guard duty, and guard he did, but in reality he'd volunteered for the shift to get a break from Ester and Betty, two sisters who'd spent a lifetime fighting over men. Even after the world went to hell they couldn't change old habits. As soon as Ester saw Betty talking to Hershel it became a competition to see which one would win him. Neither woman considered the possibility that _he_ wouldn't want either of _them_. They annoyed him to no end but at least Beth and Maggie got a laugh out of it.

Escaping a couple of bothersome old birds wasn't Hershel's only reason to long solitude. He was grieving. The old adage about not knowing what you've got until it was gone had never seemed truer to Hershel than right now. He'd come to love Rick and his group. With the exception of Shane Walsh, every time they lost someone it hit Hershel hard. Still, Glenn and Rick were closer to him than any of the others had been. In his heart he'd adopted them, and little Carl, too, as his own family.

Rick wasn't the only one he mourned. Michonne had more than earned her place not only in the group, but in his heart and life as well, and though she hadn't been with them long she'd proven to be valuable as more than a warrior to defend the prison. She was good to talk to because she listened without judging. Also, he knew she didn't give a shit about other people's business so whatever so-called big secrets someone shared with her were most likely just filed away in the junk drawer of her extraordinarily logical mind.

"You know about Rick and Michonne."

Hershel started and almost lost his balance. It was easy for him to forget that he had one leg missing and he tried, now, to step on it as he turned to face Daryl Dixon. Having been so lost in thought he hadn't heard Daryl's approach. He reached out and caught Hershel before he could land embarrassingly on his ass.

"Thank you. Last thing I need is a broken hip. If that ever happens you have my permission to just shoot me on the spot," he informed Daryl. "What can I do for you?"

Daryl leaned against the railing and looked out onto the narrow view of the fence. Walkers milled about, an ever-present threat that sometimes drove Daryl nuts, not that he'd let it show. He wasn't gonna pussy out and throw a fit and show his feelings and all that crazy shit like Carol had tried to get him to do. He'd thought, after all they'd gone through with Sophia, she'd realize it took a helluva lot to drive him to tears.

Then there was Tyrese. He didn't care for the way the two of them looked at one another any more than Carol liked the way he and Karen looked at one another. That was a situation Daryl had never been in before and truth be told, he didn't know what to do with it.

"I've long since feared the day we lost Rick Grimes," Hershel said, bringing Daryl's thoughts back to the issue at hand and reminding him why he'd sought the old man out in the first place. Rick had trusted his advice. Now he'd have to learn to. "He wasn't perfect, none of us is, but he was the best thing to come out of all this tragedy and horror."

"Agreed," Daryl said, nodding.

"I have the feeling you're not here to reminisce about our fallen leader. I also have the feeling you're in no hurry to become the new Sheriff."

Daryl turned and crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Hershel. "I told Glenn I was gonna punch the next one to call me Sheriff in the face."

Hershel grinned broadly and winked. "I know. I heard you say it."

"I'll make an exception in your case."

"Much appreciated."

Daryl was taking a little longer than usual to get to the point and Hershel noticed it. Perhaps it was coming to him for advice, mimicking Rick's habits as he prepared to step into the impressive shoes Rick had left behind, that made Daryl so hesitant to speak his mind. Regardless of why, Hershel waited patiently, knowing the words would come in their own time.

"I don't want to take over. Not if there's a choice."

"Is this a job offer?" Hershel said with some measure of disquiet.

He'd assumed Daryl understood the rarely mentioned chain of command within their group. Rick, Shane, Daryl, Glenn, Lori, and then Hershel, that was the hierarchy. Shane and Lori's deaths had taken them out of the equation but Glenn was still next in line, regardless.

"Age and wisdom often go hand in hand but so does leadership and experience. I'm not qualified for this job, Daryl. You are."

"You're gonna have to be, old man, at least until I get back."

"Get back from where?"

Hershel sighed as he realized the answer to his own question. When he and Daryl looked one another in the eye a long explanation of what he had planned became moot.

"They were alive when Maggie drove off."

Hershel was immediately defensive. "She had no choice, Daryl. It was Rick and Glenn's call. She obeyed orders."

"She did right, don't mistake me. I know that. When Rick and I were still strangers he risked everything, his own life and losing his family, to save my brother who was a stranger to him. He risked it because it was the right thing to do. I owe Rick that much. We all do."

"You want to take my kids off with you on a suicide mission."

"Everyone thought going after Merle was a suicide mission. Turns out it wasn't."

Hershel nodded. "True, but look at the losses we suffered because you, Rick, and Glenn weren't there that night. Daryl, just as I would do with Rick I shall do with you: I'll follow your orders. I just hope to God you're not acting on some sense of guilt-"

"I'm acting on fealty. Didn't you use that word once when talking about everyone obeying Rick? We owed him our featly? You were right when you said that."

Hershel sighed at having his own words thrown back in his face.

"I'll take care of your kids if they decide to go."

"You know Glenn and Maggie. They won't let you run off alone. They're the young lions of our little Petri dish society here at the prison. Defending the people is their job. It's your job too."

"That's what I'm doing," Daryl said, every word packed with intensity. "I'm defending our people. Rick and Michonne need their people now more than they ever have, even if it means just bringing back their bones to rest with their people. If we can't do that much for those we call family then what are we worth?"

Hershel was convinced by the argument but he didn't have to like it. He said as much. "Give them the choice they'll go with you, I understand that. Still, give them the choice."

Daryl nodded. "We're losing the light. We'll move in the morning. Tonight I'm going to ask for volunteers. Now you come on inside. I'll send one of the trainees out here to stand guard for a few hours."

Hershel shook his head but obeyed, dreading Esther and Betty nearly as much as he did hearing his kids volunteer to go off on a recovery mission for walker chewed corpses. Still, those corpses were family and if Hershel was honest with himself, he wanted them back too.

"Looking for these?"

Carl froze in place, realizing he'd been caught in the act of ransacking the locker where the keys were kept. Only the core group knew where the locker was and what was inside it. He'd searched three times and couldn't find the keys to a single vehicle.

"Yeah, actually. Thanks," he said, holding out a hand to Beth. He didn't really expect her to drop the keys into his hand but he still tried.

"You can't go off after your dad alone."

"If it was your dad, what would you do?"

Beth hesitated. "I'd wait and see what Daryl has planned first.

"That's the difference between us, then. I'm not waiting for Daryl to take days to decide if he wants to go back after Dad's body. If there's anything left…"

Beth hung the keys back in the locker and then shut the door.

"I'll take them as soon as you're gone."

She nodded and put her arms around his neck. She was still a little taller than him but she didn't care.

"Daryl has called a meeting in half an hour to talk to the group. He's going to decide what to do about Rick and Michonne. Make me a promise, Carl: Wait to see what Daryl has to say. If he decides not to go back for your dad and Michonne then I'll help you steal a car and go with you to get them back. I give you my word."

Carl wasn't sure what to say or, even, what to feel. He had a lot of emotion bubbling up in his chest and he didn't know quite how to deal with them. Gratitude and love mixed with something he'd feeling a lot lately; a certain tightness in his trousers that ached sweetly. He often woke up with a sticky mess in the morning after dreaming about Beth's, and sometimes Maggie's, naked bodies dancing and moving around him and against him. He liked those dreams.

"You'd do that for me?"

She nodded. "I will, but only if you promise to see what Daryl has to say. If you take off before that I'll never speak to you again."

Never speaking meant never kissing or touching and that was the last thing Carl wanted. He'd wait for Daryl to come to a decision. He trusted Beth to keep her word, too. If Daryl pussied out then he and Beth would go after his dad on their own.

"We've got thirty minutes. Want to try something new?" Beth said.

"Like what?"

She looked around and made sure they were alone before undoing his jeans and slipping her hand inside his underwear.

Carl sighed, all thought suddenly gone from his mind at the touch of Beth's hand.

Daryl stopped in front of Karen's cell. She'd given Maggie the key in case she panicked and tried to run. She sat on her bunk, fitted with extra padding from a few other bunks to make it comfortable, a large, leather-bound book resting on her lap.

"What you reading?"

"Don Quixote, original, not that shit English translation," she replied, smiling.

"We should have raided Woodbury's library."

She laughed. "Don't bother. Some poorly written romance paperbacks, a few old math books, some bibles, and this gem are all that really survived the fire."

They shared a long look. They both knew why he was here. She put the book down and approached the cell, linking her arms through it. The scratch on her forearm looked like it was healing well enough.

"That's scabbing over nicely," Daryl commented. "How do you feel?"

"Never felt better. No fever, no hallucinations. Still, it's too early to tell."

He nodded his agreement and caught movement from the corner of his eye. Carol was talking to Tyrese. She leaned against a wall while he stood too close for Daryl's comfort, one hand on the wall above Carol so that their bodies were close. Carol didn't seem to mind one bit.

"What does she mean to you?" Karen asked bluntly.

"A lot," he said honestly.

"What do you mean to her?"

"I thought I meant a lot too. Guess I was wrong."

Karen smiled and nodded. "If I turn out okay maybe I could mean a lot to you, too."

Daryl took in a deep breath and tried not to look too pleased before saying, "Maybe." He walked away, fairly sure that Karen was going to be all right. Even better, she was as attracted to him as he was to her. That put a real pep to his step as he walked past Carol and Tyrese, offering them a nod as he went.

"Meeting's in five," he said in passing. He wondered what Carol's game was. Had he taken too long to move on her? Did he still want to? If he did what would happen with Karen? He hadn't made any promises. Not making promises was something he'd learned from Merle that was actually valuable when it came to women. All the rest of his brother's advice had been shit that proved he'd understood women about as much as he understood trigonometry.

"Listen up," Daryl said, addressing the group as Carol and Tyrese made their way down. Maggie, Glenn, Beth, and Hershel sat up front, though Carl, he noticed, stood at the back of the crowd with his arms crossed and a cold look on his face. Daryl remembered a time when the boy smiled, before all the shit, before death took his mother and, for awhile, madness took his father. Hopefully they'd find Rick and Michonne alive and the boy would have a reason to smile again.

Now that he had their attention, now that all eyes were literally on him, Daryl forgot what he'd intended to say. Everyone sat or stood staring at him, the defacto leader, waiting for him to take charge. They waited for orders, for him to provide structure so that it didn't feel like they were all just flapping in the wind, so that they didn't feel like the shit that was rushing toward the spinning blades of the fan. The truth was, and Daryl knew it, the fabric of society really had been reduced to jagged, rotted strips and there was no one to sew it back together again.

"Two of ours is lost. Our leader, Rick, and one of our best people, Michonne, had to be left behind and for damn good reason," he added, nodding at Maggie and Glenn's guilty face. "They were last seen alive and with a fighting chance. That fighting chance disappears pretty quick in a situation like theirs so I've made a decision: I'm gonna go back for them. If they're still alive, if they found a safe place, they won't be alive for long if they don't get help. It's a long road home from Charlesville. Even if they got out of town they could die on the return trip."

Carl had stopped slouching and now stood with his back straight and a look of hope in his eyes. One man, George or Geoff or whoever, Daryl could never remember the man's name, raised his hand. Daryl considered ignoring him but knew Rick wouldn't. He nodded.

"Yeah, George?"

"Geoff," the man snootily corrected.

"Whatever. What do you want?"

"I think it's a mistake for you to leave the prison. You're in charge now."

"That's right. I'm in charge and I call the shots," Daryl sort of agreed. He wondered what the group would say if he decided to toss this fucker out on his ass. They probably wouldn't like it.

"It's nothing more than a suicide mission," Geoff pressed. "Why risk your life, and your people's safety, to recover a couple of bodies?"

"Fuck you, that's my dad!" Carl shouted. He moved toward Geoff and Daryl wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if he literally attacked the older man.

"Watch your mouth, Carl," Daryl warned lazily. Truth was his heart wasn't in it to correct the boy since Carl had pretty much said what he wanted to anyway.

Carl backed down, electing to move to the front of the group, and Geoff looked relieved.

"Anyway, I'm asking for-"

"I'm sorry, but I really must continue to object," Geoff said.

"And I really must tell you to shut the fuck up," Daryl replied, a little more heat in his voice. "I ain't here to ask for anybody's opinion or permission. I'm here to tell you what's going on. Now, I'm asking for volunteers to go-"

"I'm in," Carl said predictably. Daryl would deal with him in a minute, in private.

He saw Geoff start to open his mouth and knew this old dude was gonna be trouble. He pointed right at Geoff. "You, shut up or leave. Everybody else, pay attention."

Geoff huffed, literally huffed, and sat down, folding his arms and looking put out.

"No more interruptions," Hershel said. He got to his feet and crutched his way over to stand beside Daryl. It was a visual cue, a literal show of loyalty and solidarity, and Daryl was grateful for it.

"Go on," Hershel encouraged.

"I'm not forcing anyone to go and you don't need to feel guilty for staying behind. I understand. Is there anyone who wants to join me?"

Perhaps the people thought if no one volunteered, no one besides a thirteen year old boy, Daryl would back down and elect to stay. That proved they didn't know him at all.

Maggie raised her hand, Glenn soon after. Even Beth volunteered. Soon as she did, Tyrese held up a hand, as did a few others. Daryl nodded in approval. The most able bodied of the Woodbury survivors offered to risk their lives for a man they didn't really know. Daryl had a feeling they'd become real family to the core group while the others remained burdens to house and feed.

"I'm keeping the group small. Maggie, Glenn, Tyrese, you're with me. Everyone else will be assigned duties by Hershel. Listen up, this is important: Hershel is in charge. Beth is his second in command. You'll obey them the same as you would me or Rick. When we get back, and we will get back with or without Michonne and Rick, I'd better not find out you gave Hershel and Beth trouble. If you did you'll answer directly to me. Understood?"

The people nodded or just stared.

"Understood?" Daryl pressed, his voice hard.

"Understood," the people said in unison, sensing it wouldn't be a good idea to cross the man with the crossbow.

He looked at Beth. She looked more scared at the idea of staying behind in a leadership position than going off to fight zombies on what everyone believed was a suicide mission. She approached Daryl and whispered so that he had to lean down just to hear her.

"I can't boss people around. Almost all of them are older than me," she said.

Daryl didn't show her any sympathy. "Learn how. The day may come when you're the one they answer to because everyone else is dead. You're not the type to wimp out, Beth, so don't start now."

She swallowed and nodded.

"That's it. Everybody get outta here. I got plans to make," Daryl said by way of dismissal.

"You forgot me," Carl said. His eyes were thunderous. "I'm not staying behind, Daryl, and you're not tricking me into staying."

"Do I have to lock you away?" Daryl asked.

"You wouldn't do that. This is my dad-"

"That's right, your dad. He risked everything so you could be safe. How do you think he'd feel to see you in the rescue party? If he's dead then you're all Ass Kicker has left. You can't just think about yourself anymore, Carl. Part of being a man is putting other people ahead of yourself. Are you a man or a selfish little prick?"

Carl swallowed at the sudden surge of shame in his belly. He hadn't thought of Judith at all. He remembered his dad, back on Hershel's farm, telling him that his parents were going to die one day. If his dad was gone now then he really was all the family his sister had left in the world.

"I'm going after Rick," Daryl said, putting a hand on Carl's shoulder. "I may never come back. Hershel will need tough backup. Beth and Judith will need you to be the man in their lives. It's a lot to ask of somebody your age but I think you're ready to man up. I'm not just talking shit either. It's how the world is now. You live fast, hard, you grow up early or you don't grow up at all."

Carl nodded, knowing Daryl was right, but he still hated it. He wanted to go after his dad. He wanted to save him. He hadn't been any help to Sophia or his mom. Now he felt like he was failing his father by staying behind. He'd be failing Judith if he left with Daryl and got himself killed. He'd even be failing his father's memory if that happened.

After all his determination to save his father himself, Carl made a hard choice: He put aside his pride to let someone else go after his dad. Whatever news they came back with - if they came back at all - he'd accept. He wouldn't have any other choice.

At 5:45 in the morning Rick Grimes awoke to see Michonne sitting in the corner looking tired. He still had fifteen minutes left to rest but he didn't try to fall back asleep. Instead he thought of his son, his daughter, and those he'd lost to this damned plague. He also allowed his mind to wander to what he wanted from this life. It didn't have much to offer but there was one thing he needed that he denied himself: sex.

He felt guilty at times, thinking of fucking another woman when his wife hadn't been dead six months, but the truth was his marriage had been over long before that. He and Lori hadn't had sex since their fallout. That was well over a year.

He regretted now allowing his marriage to dissolve but he wasn't going to accept blame totally on himself. Lori was dead but he didn't make her a saint after the fact. She'd made mistakes. She'd hurt him in ways no one else on earth could. He'd forgiven her infidelity because he'd known Shane had lied her into it. He'd even forgiven her for the lingering looks she used to give Shane before his death. He hadn't, however, been able to forgive her for pushing him away, turning cold, when she found out he'd killed Shane rather than allowing Shane to kill him.

The Woodbury survivors had been elderly and the young. Karen was really the only younger woman suited to his age that was attractive and unattached but it was clear something was brewing below the surface between her and Daryl. Carol had been taken, in a sense, also by Daryl. Even if she hadn't, Rick hadn't wanted to mislead Carol into thinking he could ever truly love her. He didn't want to use the women who looked to him for safety and guidance, for survival, to satisfy his needs. He wasn't that kind of man.

Then there was Michonne. In retrospect he realized she'd caught his eye from the moment he'd seen her at the gate with the baby formula. Covered in blood, wielding a sword and a basket with food for Judith…she'd been dark skinned and fiercely beautiful. His parents had always frowned on interracial dating. He'd been brought up not to be prejudiced but to date and marry his own kind. He'd never thought to go against his parents' teachings on that particular subject, though he'd often looked upon women of color and different races with a desire to experience the forbidden.

He and Lori had married young. Too young. Neither of them had experienced life. They'd just done what all people in a small town do - they paired off, got married, had a kid, got a job, paid a mortgage and called it life.

Now, though, worrying about what color somebody was before you could date them seemed stupid to Rick. In fact, it had always seemed stupid but he'd never had the guts to question it. His parents were dead, the world was dead, and there was no reason to keep up with the old ways. If he met someone and wanted to be with them then he should, regardless of the shade of their skin.

Michonne invaded Rick's dreams. It was always her hand that he imagined on his cock when he slipped into his bunk late at night, after everyone fell asleep. It was always her body he imagined under or over his when he closed his eyes and stroked himself to climax. It was her lips against his when he kissed a woman in his fantasies. It was her mouth on him when…

Rick pulled his thoughts back to the present. He was getting hard and how the fuck would he explain that to Michonne? He could claim morning wood if he claimed anything at all. He didn't want to get into that now, anyway. Besides, he didn't think she was really interested in him. He figured she found him and his quite obvious crush amusing more than anything else.

"You okay?" she asked.

He saw the twinkle in her eyes. Damn, she had a wickedly mischievous side. "Why?"

"You were panting," she said. Her eyes went to the obvious bulge in his jeans and she smiled before turning back to the door.

"I didn't pant. I just need to go," he replied, feeling his face heat up.

"You're a man. You can use one of the empty water bottles," she said.

"Do you want to go out?"

Michonne frowned and turned to him. Rick realized how that sounded and immediately corrected.

"Out there, I mean, see if we can't find a way out of here."

Or had he actually asked her on a date? God knows there was nowhere to take her. Not now. Not with the world gone to hell.

"I'm ready for it if you are," she said. She situated her katana and waited for him to finish peeing. He tried not to feel embarrassed at such a basic function. He tried not to get even harder when he caught her quickly looking away.

She'd snuck a peek, he was sure of it. Did she like what she saw? He had to wonder.

Rick opened the door as quietly as possible, thankful the hinges weren't rusty and squeaky, and peered outside. Snow had begun to fall, dusting everything in a light, white film of flaky ice. Rick's breath clouded in front of his face in short, quick puffs, and his eyes hurt as the cold of the air tried to freeze all moisture on his face, including in his eyes. He blinked and saw that the walkers at the end of the alley were almost perfectly still.

"We stay together," he said. She nodded agreement.

He closed the door marked #3. They needed to raid the nearest marked door, #5, which was down one street and over two. The light coating of snow masked the sound of their footsteps as they crept toward the statue still walkers. Rick would give anything for some gloves. His hands were already going numb. Michonne, he noticed, had brought a pair with her from the prison. If he lost use of his hands then she would be the one to keep them alive until he could find a place to warm them.

He quietly took out two of the walkers with his knife by stabbing them through their heads and then lowering their bodies to the ground so as not to make a lot of noise. That cleared the way for them to move closer to #5. Rick's guts were wound tight as a spring as he and Michonne snuck through the shadows. At any moment whoever orchestrated this hellish game could do any number of things to draw walker attention to them.

The cold was a blessing. The walkers had no way of keeping warm and the intensity of winter could sometimes literally freeze them to the ground or make it nearly impossible for them to move. Even their instincts seemed to hibernate in extreme cold. They were slow and "sleepy" during the night, which made it a perfect time to move about.

"Number 5," Michonne said, nodding at the door to a shop near the end of a deserted street. There were no cars, only empty soda cans and bits of paper that littered the asphalt in front of the old-fashioned wood and glass shop windows. It looked like Charlesville hadn't changed much since the 20's, which was when the shops looked like they first opened for business.

"Too easy," he said.

Michonne nodded agreement. "Still gotta try."

Rick started to move forward but Michonne suddenly gripped him and pulled him behind a newspaper dispenser stood rusted, a three-year-old paper speaking of the strange virus that made the dead come back to life blaring across its yellowed front page. A man was moving ahead. It wasn't the same man who had stopped them from leaving Charlesville. This man was black with short, neatly trimmed hair and a lean physique. He was young, too, maybe only 25 or 30 years of age. He was armed with a Romanesque broadsword. There was a battleaxe strapped to his back. He paced back into the shadows, moving out of the half-lit streetlight on the corner by the shop he guarded.

Was he aware of Rick and Michonne? Was he playing it off or did he really not know they were so close?

"I can take him," Michonne said.

"You don't know that. I don't want to risk injury or drawing walkers with clanging swords. Let's try to sneak around back."

"Where are they?" Michonne said, wondering aloud more than questioning Rick.

"Who?"

"The walkers. There were only those two. What happened to the herd that trapped us here?"

"Someone is obviously controlling them," said Rick. "We'll worry about that later. Right now we need to see what's behind the other doors."

Michonne followed Rick back up the street. They stuck to the deep shadows and quietly made their way around back where they found the doors were locked. Rick hung his head.

"We have to go through that guy," he said. "I can't feel my hands."

"I said I can take him."

"I'll find a way to warm my gun hand. If you start to lose I'm taking him out. Be as quiet-""

"As I can, I know. I will."

Michonne and Rick didn't bother with stealth as they approached the corner, taking it wide, putting space between themselves and the guard. Rick stopped while Michonne entered the halo of light from the street lamp.

She cleared her throat in a rather dainty way. The guard stopped pacing and turned to face her. At once he smiled and prepared his sword.

"Hello, handsome," said Michonne. "May I have this dance?"


	5. Chapter 5

The ride to Charlesville was quiet. Daryl ordered Glenn to drive as quickly as possible, even in the heavy downpour of snow, while Maggie prepared their weapons and loaded Daryl a quiver of arrows to make sure he didn't run short when the shit hit the fan as it was bound to.

"We'll need to find a way into town on foot, nice and quiet" Maggie said. "The walkers will swarm this truck as soon as we get there."

"Drive by first, Glenn. Let's see how many are in the streets," Daryl ordered.

When they arrived at the exit ramp Glenn slowed to a crawl. The streets appeared deserted. The walkers were gone.

"What the fuck?" Glenn said in confusion. "This makes no sense. There were walkers everywhere when we left."

"They wouldn't just go inside to get out of the cold," added Maggie.

"Somebody is pulling the strings on our rotten puppets," said Daryl. "This is planned."

"What makes you say that?" Glenn asked.

"Look. There's fresh tire tracks. You said that ramp was clear when you came and left but now look at it. Closed off with a truck that's got a gun mount."

As though someone in town had heard Daryl speak a gunshot rang out. Snow puffed up on the ground, along with a chunk of concrete, a few feet from them.

"Warning shot," Daryl said. "Did either of you see who fired it?"

Both Glenn and Maggie scanned the area but saw no one. Then again that wasn't a surprise. The sky was heavy with snow and the air was hazy with light fog. Outside the warm interior of the truck the wind howled, sounding as cold as it truly was, and making Daryl shiver inside. Another shot, this one closer, tore up the ground in front of the truck.

"Turn around," Daryl said. "I have a feeling the next shot will take out a tire."

"We can't just leave them here-"

"We're not leaving anyone behind. We just need them to think they've gotten rid of us. Like Maggie said. We'll need to come in on foot, nice and quiet."

Glenn turned the truck around and started back the way they'd come. A mile down the road he turned off and parked in the center of a narrow road, careful to back in so they were facing the four lane.

"Think they have lookouts posted in the trees?" Maggie asked.

Daryl nodded. "I'm sure of it. We gotta try anyway. You can stay with the truck if-"

"He goes, I go," she said, nodding at Glenn.

Daryl smiled shook his head. "All right then. Let's head out."

"Two shots."

Rick stood at the window of the second floor apartment he and Michonne had located. Once the sun had risen they discovered the shop was fairly useless on the first floor. There were no provisions, no weapons, nothing of value, but it was blessedly empty.

Upstairs was a different matter. There was a one bedroom apartment with a fully stocked kitchen. Of course there was no fresh meat but there were plenty of canned goods. There was also running water and a battery operated hotplate. Rick stood by the window and looked out over the street below, which was empty of either the living or the dead, while the delicious smell of chicken noodle soup filled the living room.

Michonne brought two bowls of soup to the couch. He sat down to eat with her.

"Damn, this is good. I'd swear it was fresh."

"Our taste buds have adapted to shit so anything tastes good now," Michonne said. "I'm just glad we've got something hot to eat."

Rick nodded in agreement. "Wonder what they're shooting at."

"Probably our people. You know Daryl isn't going to just sit safe and sound at home when there's even a small chance we survived," she reasoned.

"I wish there was some way to tell him to do just that. The last thing I want is for anymore of our people getting dragged into this."

Michonne regarded Rick while he ate a few more spoons of soup. "You think we'll get out of this alive?"

He shrugged. "No idea. Do you?"

"We probably won't."

"What makes you say that?"

"I dreamed we died here," Michonne said.

Rick was trying to think of something to say when the phone on the wall across from him rang. His fingers lost all ability to hold his spoon and it dropped into the bowl with a sloppy splash. He'd thought this was over. He'd thought he'd gotten control of his mind. Now it was happening again at the worst possible time.

"They've got phone service?" Michonne said.

"Oh," Rick said, such relief flooding him that the word came out like a whimper. "You hear it too?"

Michonne was frowning at him in confusion. "Yeah."

Rick stood on legs that were nearly wobbly with relief and walked slowly over to the phone. It was one of the old kinds of phones, a beige, wall-mounted, rotary dial model that looked like something straight from the sixties or seventies. He approached the phone warily, slowly, knowing that whoever was calling was not going to simply hang up if he didn't answer right away.

"You got a phobia about phones or something?" Michonne asked.

"You have no idea," Rick said.

"Want me to get it?"

"No, I'm fine."

He snatched the receiver off the cradle, anxious to stop the shrill ringing, anxious to speak to whoever had captured them.

Whoever was on the other end of the line spoke as soon as the receiver touched his ear.

"Fuck her."

It was a woman's voice, speaking in a quiet, even pleasant, tone. She had a noticeable accent. Rick thought it might be French.

"Who is this?" Rick asked. "Why are you-"

Again, speaking in a pleasant, conversational tone, as though talking about the weather, the woman said, "Fuck her. Fuck her within the hour or I will set a hoard of rotters upon you that you will have no hope of escaping from. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. Now will you answer-"

"Fuck her even if you have to rape her. I am watching. I look forward to it."

There was a click followed by a dial tone. The dial tone was so normal, so reminiscent of civilization, that Rick had no difficulty imagining that he'd just gotten off the phone with an old friend who had delivered terrible news. Outside there were no walkers. Cars and trucks and airplanes were operated by living friends and family. He could almost hear it.

"Rick?"

He blinked and hung up the phone. Michonne stood by the window, looking out onto the street below.

"Walkers. Maybe ten," she reported. "We could take them if you want to make a run for it."

"No."

"Who was that? What did they say?"

Rick swallowed heavily. How could he tell Michonne what their captors demanded of them? It was such a vulgar command. Fuck her even if you have to…

"I'm a big girl, Rick. I can handle whatever it is they said. Let me guess, we have hours before we die?" She nearly rolled her eyes.

"It was a woman. She says I have to…I have to fuck you…within the hour, even if I have to rape you to do it."

Michonne took the news silently, as though he'd told her he wanted to take a nap. There was no sign of fear.

"What else?" Michonne said.

"If I don't then she's going to set a hoard of walkers on us that we couldn't escape from. She called them rotters."

"So?" she asked.

"So…what?"

"You gonna do it?"

"What, rape you? Hell no!"

Michonne smirked. "Believe me, Rick, you couldn't rape me even if you honestly tried. I meant are you gonna fuck me or are we going to make a run for it?"

Rick paced the room, wiping his mouth. "We're being watched. She says she looks forward to it. I say we find the cameras rip them out. Or we could make a run for it-"

The phone rang again. This time Rick marched over to it and snatched the receiver up angrily.

"What!"

"Do something to sabotage the cameras and I will set a hoard of rotters on you," the woman said. "Au revoir."

"Shit," Michonne said.

"What?"

"See for yourself."

Rick approached the window. There was another group of walkers approaching the ones that milled about on the street below. Rick did a quick headcount. There were now twenty instead of ten walkers.

"She says if we do anything to the cameras-"

"Let me make this easy for you," Michonne said.

Rick's insides seized when Michonne's hand came to rest on his groin. She began to rub gently. He tried to resist reacting but the friction felt so damned good he knew he was going to get hard, maybe harder than he'd ever been in his life, if he didn't put a stop to her.

He stepped away from Michonne.

"This ain't right."

"No, it ain't right," she agreed. "It's ain't right but it's necessary to survive."

Rick was already shaking his head no. He'd wanted to be with her, he wouldn't deny that, but he didn't want it like this. He didn't want to be watched, fucking a woman he respected and cared about, for the entertainment of some psycho bitch he'd never even seen.

"It's your choice," Michonne said. "If you want to do this we can. If not, we can let her send in a hoard of walkers and we'll go out fighting."

She took a step closer to him, looking him dead in the eye the entire time, "Just remember everything you have to live for."

Carl.

Judith.

The survivors at the prison.

The friends who were undoubtedly on their way to save him and Michonne.

Daryl had undoubtedly led a group to try to save him. He imagined Glenn was in that group. Probably Tyrese, too. If he and Michonne died, all because he wanted to be a prude… Maybe they could buy time.

Within the hour.

_Shit_, he thought.

Michonne stood waiting. She would either fuck him like their mysterious captor demanded, or she would go out fighting.

"Is there anything you won't do?"

"I've either done it all or had it done to me," she said cryptically. "There's nothing new or shocking left for me to experience. I can't imagine there is for you either."

Rick shook his head. "Except this."

She turned her back and stood at the window. She didn't say another word. She didn't try to talk him out of it, nor did she try to talk him into it. She merely waited for his decision.

After a few minutes Rick approached her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. Slowly he ran his fingertips down her arms until he reached her belt buckle. She surprised him by nudging him away and turning to face him.

Michonne nodded once before unzipping her trousers.

"Don't make it flowery and sweet, Rick," she said. "I'm not into that shit."

She unzipped his pants, pushed them down, and then wrapped a bare leg around his. Rick felt her soft curls against his cock, felt her warm flesh grind against his.

"Just close your eyes. Feel it," Michonne said.

His breath quickened as Michonne continued to grind him, faster and faster. When he stiffened against her she pulled him close, slipped him inside, and began to grind against him.

She wasn't wet. Not wet enough for a genuinely good fuck. There was a look of extreme discomfort on her face but it didn't stop her from moving over him.

"Michonne, wait," he tried, but she would have none of it. She leaned against the sill, put her other leg around him and pulled him in deep. He had no choice but to remain there.

"She said fuck me, so fuck me."

He was paralyzed for a moment, until she squeezed him from inside. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, making her hiss.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "Our lives depend on it."

So Rick continued. He didn't stop. He fucked Michonne against the windowsill, knowing she wasn't enjoying it, knowing that they were being watched by a woman with a truly sadistic mind. Every thrust made him feel dirty, used, violated, filthy, but he rode it out, pumping harder and harder, trying to get to the end of this perfunctory act of ugly violation. He yanked Michonne's legs loose and came against the wall beneath her.

Michonne put her feet on the floor, stepped back into her pants, and zipped them. Rick did likewise, watching his cum slide thickly and disgustingly down the wall. He swallowed several times, feeling suddenly sick.

"They're gone," Michonne said.

The walkers that had congregated beneath the shop window were indeed gone.

They waited for the phone to ring and they weren't disappointed. Rick walked over. He felt dirty. He was soiled and filled with self-loathing.

"What."

"Pathetic. Not at all an enjoyable show," the woman said. "Do better tomorrow."

Rick hung up and passed the message along to Michonne. She nodded toward the bedroom.

"Let's get some rest. We need to go out tonight and see what's behind the other numbered doors."

He followed her to the bedroom and laid down beside her.

"Are you okay?"

Michonne smiled. "Nothing I haven't been through before."

"What do you mean?"

She answered by rolling over onto her side and refusing to speak. Rick didn't press her to elaborate. They'd both had enough forced on them already. He wasn't going to add to that burden.


End file.
